I woke up today and went to work in my new jacket. I felt like a blue-collar worker because the jacket is blue, and I stopped by a gas station to buy a pack of smokes and pump myself a cup of their finest coffee. Blue-collar people refer to cigarettes as ‘smokes.’ Plus I’m wearing a uniform, have on no make-up and my frizzy curly hair is tied up. I would consider myself a hard-working blue-collar girl. Yes indeed. Hard manual labor is good for me.
My client taken off his underwear for the first time yesterday. It makes no difference to me whether or not a client leaves them on or off, but this client is special because this client is African American. Can I just say ‘black?’ African American sounds too politically correct and I don’t find the term ‘black’ to be derogatory, just like I wouldn’t be offended if a native american called me pale-face. I am pale-faced, more so than most. Can I just call them Indians? Wait, now I’m getting off topic.
Shall I continue on with this story? It’s already sounding a bit racy, but in no means meant to be racist, just racy that’s all. And maybe a tad perverted on my part.
The thing is that African Americans NEVER take off their under-garments. And sometimes they even leave on their socks.
This man who happens to have a very well put together body along with a Denzel face and cute sophisticated glasses to compliment his brawn with brains has decided to leave off his knickers (still left his socks on though).
He’s been coming to me for a while and I’m always happy to massage him and his muscles, but….well, this is where my job can get complicated.
I was massaging his glut’s and thinking about why black people leave on their underwear when one possibility fell into the empty crevasses of my brain.
Is it because of their well-endowed proportions? Free-balling it under the sheets would lead me to believe he’s hiding a kick-stand under there, or a third leg. What if I accidentally start massaging his third leg? See, these are the thoughts that I have to deal with on a day-to-day basis.
I got nervous just like I did when I massaged the Uma Thurman look-a-like. I flipped him over and my eyes inadvertently shifted to that area – you know what area. His genital area. I kept staring at it trying to make out its shape under the blanket. I could see something, but wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Whatever it was, it was big and intimidating.
My ears got red. I became scared I would touch it if my hands went too far up the inner thigh. This was a new experience for me and I can’t be too careful. And so I kept my eyes glued to his privates and became perceptive to any subtle movement.
There was no movement. I finished up his legs and ended the massage with a neck and head massage. He told me I was a phenom. You have no idea buddy.
To let you in on the other races; asian woman are masochistic with pressure, indian woman (real woman from india) have horrible tight neck and shoulders, the only asian man I massaged was gay, funny and chunky. Italian men leave their undies off so I can massage their glut’s, white woman usually have some sort of problem – mental, physical or situational. Black woman have tight leg and neck muscle’s. I never massaged a native american that I know of. I like massaging people from the UK because they call their underwear ‘knickers.’ Hairy men tend to snore.
There’s more, but I have to get back to work. Three more clients to go.
I’m going to get in a heap of trouble for posting this, aren’t I? Oh well, bring it. It’s just my experience and I do love all my clients, well, asian woman are tough, but I still really like them for their culture and food……and chopsticks…. 🙂